


winds go sighing

by cottagecorecas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Bliss, Fix-It, Giving Dean and Cas the Happiness they deserve, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Nightmares, Starts part-way through 15x19, finale fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottagecorecas/pseuds/cottagecorecas
Summary: Dean swallows the secret on his trembling lips. Laid to rest in their wooden box bed, those heavy words are lowered into the ground of his hollowed chest. His bloodied hands scatter damp earth from above, and it pours down his throat, fills in the pit of his lungs, and leaves him gasping for breath where there is none.He smiles, and toasts to a new life, but in the depths of his shattered heart, hidden from spying eyes, he hands his head at lost love's lonely grave. Steeping in silent sorrow, sick with grief he weeps for a life that never was, and though it lives behind his ribs, the mourning dove sings its sad song. Silent to the outside, but never silent to him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 25
Kudos: 141





	1. thread through a needle

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i tried to write this fic as close to canon as i could to show how easy it would have been to make the finale better. there's going to be a longer note at the end of this fic explaining some problems i have with the finale, and why i was inspired to write this fic because of it.
> 
> also, just as a warning, i tried to write what dean was going through as respectfully as i could. i'm lucky enough to never have experienced a loss that big, and i want to make it clear that i was writing grief as someone who has not personal knowledge about how it affects someone. of course i researched, but that can never replaced personal experience, and i would hate to have trivialised grief or mourning in any way, so if anything comes off as ignorant or offensive please feel free to message me, and i'll do my best to address it/fix it.
> 
> as always, thank u to everyone who encouraged me along the way, especially maggie, mikey, mona and sinem. i love you all so much and i definitely would never finish a single wip if it wasn't for you all <3
> 
> this is barely proofread and unbeta'd.
> 
> happy reading! - god i hope it lives up to everyone's expectations.

“See you, Chuck.” Practically spitting the words at him, Dean turns away from the slight man, his body sprawled on top of the sand beneath him, small and pathetic. Sam and Jack follow, and they’re only a few steps from Impala when Chuck speaks again, his voice cold and callous.

“What about Cas?”

Dean’s stomach drops, his breath catches, and it’s all he can do to stay standing.

_What if he can bring him back?_

Feeling Sam’s eyes on him, Dean turns, trying to bury the little hope that’s burning in him and how it bores its way through his chest. “What about him?”

There’s a curve at the corner of Chuck’s lips, and he’s squinting his eyes a little, and Dean knows he shouldn’t be entertaining this, but he can’t bring himself to turn back now. He needs to know if he can bring him back.

“Do you know what the empty’s like, Dean? Do you want to know what he’s doing in there?”

Dean does know. He tries not to think about it.

“Nothing. It’s dark, and it’s cold, and it’s nothing. And little Castiel is surrounded by all the angels he ever betrayed, all the demons he fought on your behalf, thinking about all the times he let you down.”

The words twist in his chest like knives, and Dean does his best not to react. He can feel Jack and Sam step closer behind him. He’s putting them all at risk by still being here. He shouldn’t be listening to this. He should go.

“How does it feel, Dean? Knowing that he will feel like a disappointment for eternity, and it’s all your fault?”

In a vain attempt to hide the choking feeling that has taken hold of his throat, Dean speaks louder. “Cas knew what he means to us. Cas understood.”

Chuck grins. “If that helps you sleep at night. I don’t know how you do it – knowing that the one true, real thing in your life is dead. How he never got to say goodbye to his son, or Sam. How he was never happy until he realised he would be free from you and everything you put him through. Knowing that now he’ll be replaying all the times he disappointed you, all the times you told him he was the problem, every time you pushed him away, forever, and all of it is because of you.”

Dean clenches his jaw and tries to keep himself still where he stands. “No. You see, you don’t know him like I do.”

“You wish you told him, though, don’t you?” Chuck steps closer, his face inches apart from Dean’s now. “In the moment you were just poor little helpless Dean Winchester, a teary-eyed, scared little boy, losing the only true thing you ever had. The only thing that you knew was real. The only thing that could’ve made you happy.”

Dean tries not to let Chuck’s words stick. He tries so hard to forget them as soon as they’re spoken, but every one of them hits exactly where Chuck wants them to. They’re reinforcing everything Dean has been thinking since that night.

“You couldn’t even save _him_ , and it eats you up inside, doesn’t it? It keeps you awake at night. You tell yourself there wasn’t enough time, convince yourself that there was nothing you could have done. Just two more seconds and you could’ve said it back. But you’re a coward. You had twelve years to. And now it’s too late.”

Dean steadies his breathing, and lets the anger, the guilt, the pain of Chuck’s words go through him. Chuck wants to prove what Dean suspected of himself all along, and he’s not going to give him what he wants this time. Not this time. Cas said he wasn’t like that, and Dean has always believed in Cas.

“Have a nice life, Chuck,” Dean says, setting his jaw and forcing a smile, trying to feign apathy. When he turns back he closes his eyes for a second, and is met with Sam and Jack’s own sympathetic ones when he opens them again. Remembering where he is and the job he has to do, he fixes his expression, frown on, eyes cold and distant, and makes his way to the Impala’s driver seat. Jack and Sam follow.

Chuck doesn’t let up though, and he’s still calling out to them, even when the engine is running and they’re pulling away. “It will eat you up inside, Dean. You’re a coward. You’re all cowards. Come back.”

Stumbling forward, panic clear in his voice, he chases Baby. “There are consequences. There are always consequences. You should kill me now. You know you want to.” He falls to the floor, shaky voice getting quieter as they drive away. “Kill me. Kill me you cowards.”

Once on the road, Chuck’s words follow Dean like they’re in the back seat, and he puts all his focus on driving. He didn’t expect that on the way home they’d still be there, taking up even more space with the newest seat made empty by Jack’s departure.

Once they get back, Dean rummages through the refrigerator and picks up three bottles. He returns to Sam, sitting on the table, and it’s only when he’s sees his brother’s expression that Dean realises his mistake.

Half sighing, half laughing, Dean uses his free hand to rub his temples. “Right. It’s two bottles now.” Cas is gone. It’s only two.

He puts the spare bottle on the table, hands one to Sam and joins him where he sits. A tense silence that has followed them since their drive back hangs heavy between them, and after a sip of his drink, Sam finally breaks it.

“How are you holding up?”

Dean suspects he’s been wanting to for days now.

“Could be better, could be worse,” he replies, trying to smile, but the truth is Dean doesn’t really know how he’s holding up, and he doesn’t know where to start to explain. “You?”

Sam sighs, “yeah, same here.”

They both take a swig from their bottles.

Sam speaks again, and it’s clear he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “What did Chuck mean earlier, _say it back_? Did Cas say something to you before he…?” He doesn’t finish his sentence and Dean has never been more grateful.

“Yeah. He uh-,” Dean brings a hand down his face and clears his throat, “he said lots of things. It’s hard to remember.” It isn’t though. In fact, Cas’s last words have been at the front of his mind, spinning round and round since he’d first heard them. He knows them by heart. He knows Sam knows he’s lying too – they’ve been here before. They’ve had this conversation one too many times. Luckily, Sam doesn’t push him though.

They drink in contemplative silence for a moment, Chuck’s words still ringing in Dean’s ears, and though he feels pathetic, doubt gets the better of him. “Do you think he knew? How much I-,” he stops himself and rephrases, “how much we cared about him?”

Sam turns a little to face Dean, his almost permanently fixed anxious frown that has developed recently replaced by sad, sympathetic eyes. “He knew, Dean. Of course he did.”

Dean wants to believe Sam, but guilt creeps up from the pit in his stomach, and he tries to drown the feeling with another pull of his beer. He remembers his words so clearly. Dark and cold and nothing. That doesn’t sound like a place Cas belongs. Not Cas.

Dean clears his throat again. “I’m not so sure.” He needs to change the subject. “What I am sure about though is that none of this would’ve been possible without him. We owe him everything.”

Sam nods, looking down at the bottle he twists between his hands. After a moment, he looks up and raises his bottle. “To everyone we’ve ever lost.”

Dean raises his bottle too. His voice low, he adds “and to Cas, whose sacrifice saved the world and made this – our freedom – possible.”

“To Cas,” Sam repeats, a small smile, equal parts melancholy and proud, forming. There’s the clink of the brothers’ bottles where they meet that rings through the bunker, and, tipping his bottle up and draining its contents, Dean tries not to notice how that sound echoes without Cas there.

_All the times he let you down._

He can’t help but notice the empty spaces around him. There’s no gentle eyes to greet him on the other side of the table. No texts. No calls. Nobody to share the flickering glow of the television screen as they watch his favourite movies. There are gaps shaped like Cas every which way he turns. Life is just emptier without him. Desaturated.

He should’ve asked Jack to bring him back when he had the chance. He wanted to. He was halfway there, but he knows Jack would have brought him back if he could. He brought Eileen back, Sam didn’t even have to ask. Besides, bringing him back from the empty would definitely have consequences. Dean’s had enough of consequences.

That doesn’t stop Dean from thinking about it though, and sitting at that table with heavy lids, head hung, he prays.

_Cas?_

_Cas, I don’t think you can hear this._

_Since when has that ever stopped me though?_

_I guess it’s just…if I pray to you, it’s easier to pretend you’re just away. Y’know? That you’re not really…_

_Gone._

_I can’t stop thinking about what Chuck said. And about bringing you back. I know it’s selfish, and I know there’s always something bad to bite us when we do stuff like that, but…it’s just not the same without you._

_Because of you, and because of Jack, we’ve finally got our freedom, but the truth is, Cas, I have no idea what I’m gonna do with it. I spent so long trying to get it…I guess I never really planned this far ahead._

_The only plans I ever had…well they’re not possible now._

_Cas, you knew, right? You knew?_

_I wish I’d told you properly. I was just so scared. So much was happening and then you said-_

_I was just so scared._

_I’m so sorry. I’ll never stop being sorry, Cas._

_You deserved so much better._

***

He tries to speak. His vocal cords don’t work, scratched raw, and he can’t find his voice, no matter how much he tries. The deafening, suffocating sound of the empty creeps in, invading his home and coming to take Cas again.

He can’t move. He wants to hold Cas close. He wants to keep him safe and to never let him go, but he can’t step forward, and he can’t move his arms. Stuck in place, a weeping statue, he’s forced to watch and powerless to stop it.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean is pushed to the floor; all air knocked from his lungs. He tries and tries to say something. He needs Cas know.

Dean shoots up from his pillow, his clothes stuck to his skin, his shallow, shaking breaths echo through the silence of the Bunker. Under the bright light of the lamp beside him, he has to shield his eyes, disoriented and breathing hard. He rubs his eyes, willing away the memory of that nightmare, and all those that came before it, and when he opens them again he’s met with a fuzzy crowd of empty beer bottles, which have definitely gathered around like that to mock him.

This is the fourth night in a row he’s fallen asleep at the table now, and he sits up in his chair, his back screaming with it. As he stretches, wincing at the twinge in his spine, his eyes catch sight of the blank space by his initials in the surface of the table. There’s a vacancy right next to them, and any time Dean notices, he thinks of Cas.

Tonight is no different. In fact, that space feels particularly empty on this night.

_He will feel like a disappointment for eternity, and it’s all your fault._

Dean can’t stand to look at it anymore. He takes the penknife from his pocket and starts to carve Cas’s name there. He scratches the _C_ into the surface, but he realises it’s not enough. The space is filled, but that emptiness within remains. Cas is still gone.

Hollowed and tight, Dean’s chest aches. He just wants to see him one last time.

With Sam in bed, and sheltered underground, away from the rest of the world, Dean tries to ease that pain away with a brush of his thumb over the newly carved letter.

The only way Dean can think to get this feeling to go away is to see him again. To brush his cheek, and not a stupid letter on a table.

That’s when Dean decides. Cas is going to carve his name in that table himself, and Dean can deal with the aftermath, whatever it is. He can live with the consequences, but he can’t live like this.

Cas saved Dean too many times. It’s Dean’s turn to repay the favour.

[END OF CHAPTER ONE]


	2. there are two paths

“Dean?” Sam’s gruff voice comes from behind Dean. “Why are you still up?”

Engrossed in his book, all Dean says is, “Researching.”

“Researching? You caught a case?”

“The empty.”

“The empty?” Sam stands opposite Dean; his voice is wary.

“There’s gotta’ be a way to get Cas back,” Dean says, flipping over the page, “Jack told us that Nick brought Lucifer back right?”

“Right, but Dean, we don’t even know how he did that.”

“So then I’m gonna’ find out. One of these books is bound to have something. The answer will be here somewhere.”

Dean focuses his eyes on the words on the page, trying to find his place. Not two moments later, Sam speaks again. “Dean, are you sure about this?”

Dean laughs, dragging his eyes from the book and back to Sam, who he’s surprised to find is frowning at him. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s Cas.”

“Look, I miss him too, but I just want to make sure that you’re actually dealing with this.”

If he gets Cas back, he won’t have to deal with anything.

“Listen, man, you heard Chuck. Where Cas is…” Dean trails off, trying to push every thought back into the deepest, darkest corners of his mind, “he’s not even at rest there. Does that sound like somewhere he belongs to you?”

“No, Dean,” Sam relents, eyes down, sighing.

“I just can’t get the idea of him there out of my head. Every time I close my eyes I-“ Dean stops himself, swallowing down the thickness that seems to live in his throat these days, and takes a breath. “How are we supposed to be free when he never got a chance to be? After everything he did for us. For me,” guilt spreads through his chest as he finishes that last part, “I owe it to him to at least try, Sam.”

Dean goes back to his book, skimming the words, searching for any mention of the Empty. Still standing in front of him, Sam clears his throat and steals Dean’s coffee from across the table. Looking up again, Dean watches Sam sip it as he takes a seat at the table and opens one of the many books from the unread pile. They catch eyes, and Dean offers his brother a thankful smile. Then they both get to work.

They spend the night buried in books. Miracle keeps Dean company when Sam accidentally falls asleep, nodding off just after the fourth book of the night. It’s been a long few weeks. Dean can’t blame him for it. The only thing keeping him from sleep himself is the idea that he might have to live through Cas getting taken again.

While Sam sleeps, Dean gets through all the books at the table, and he has to go to the storage room to get more. Usually Sam would offer. He practically jumps up from his seat whenever they’ve needed something from down there since Cas was taken, and although he hasn’t said, Dean’s grateful, because he doesn’t want to be back down in that room if he can help it.

He needs to this time though. Cas coming back depends on it.

The whole time he’s there he keeps his eyes averted from the dungeon, focusing on the boxes and their labels.

_Goodbye, Dean._

In his search he knocks something to the floor and his heart stops, his body jolting upright.

“This is so stupid,” he mutters to himself, “it’s just a room.”

He still can’t bring himself to look though, and after he gets his books, he turns around and makes his way back to the table. He’ll just wake Sam up next time.

More days pass, and Dean barely sleeps, coffee and adrenaline keeping him fixated on the task at hand, only taking breaks to walk and feed Miracle. Sam tries his best to keep up with him, but Dean tells him to “get some proper shuteye” after he’s fallen asleep at the table for the third day in a row.

By the end of the week, after what seems like one hundred books, no leads, and countless hours researching, Sam’s the one who finally finds something.

“I think I’ve got something.”

Hope buds in Dean’s burrowed chest, and his eyes, tired to their very sockets, jump from the page in front of him to his brother. “What is it?”

“There’s a spell, nothing complicated.”

“A spell? Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go bring Cas home.”

Sam reads on, “We just need salt and-.”

Dean’s already grabbing his bag. “Whatever it is Sam, I’m sure we’ve got it.”

Sam is silent for a moment, and only when Dean is halfway towards the door does he say, “Dean.”

To his frustration, when Dean turns back, Sam is still seated. His patience is wearing thin. Cas has been in the Empty for a month now, and every second that Sam is wasting is one too many Cas has to spend there. When he studies Sam’s face more clearly though, he notices that his eyes are glued to the floor. That’s when Dean knows it’s not good news. Sam always does that when it’s not good news.

“It’s blood,” Sam says finally, his voice sounding as defeated and tired as he looks. “We need his blood, Dean.”

Throwing the bag over his shoulder, Dean rushes to the nearest cupboard, his hard boots crashing to the floor as he does. “We must have some here somewhere,” he says, almost as if speaking it out loud would make it true. He pulls open draw after draw, leaves cupboard doors open, swinging at their hinges.

This is not happening. They’re so close. They’re so close to getting him back. There must be some somewhere. How many times did he bleed for them? They don’t even have one stupid vial. Not even a drop.

“Dean,” Sam says again, which causes Dean to look up. The expression on Sam’s face, painted with pity, tells him that his search is pointless.

Dean drops his bag where he stands. Sam flinches at the sound.

“Well,” Dean finally manages, steadying himself against a chair, “I guess that’s it then.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I want him back, too.”

“I know you do, Sammy. I know you do.”

Dean stands in place for what seems like forever, Sam’s eyes fixed firmly on him. “There must be another way. There’s always another way,” he says, his voice small, unconvinced by the words himself. Doing this all again makes him feel like his knees could buckle any second though. His head pounds, his eyes sting.

If he doesn’t though, he’ll never get to say it back. He’ll never get to let him know. He’ll be stuck in the Empty, not knowing how much he meant to Dean, for eternity. He’ll never be at rest. He’ll never know peace.

He’ll never get the happiness he deserves.

Dean needs to get out. He can’t breathe. He can’t be here. He needs fresh air, and he needs it now.

”We, uh…” Dean avoids Sam’s eyes as best as he can. “We’ve been working for days. I better go get us some supplies.” He starts searching for the keys to the Impala and making his way towards the door. “Do you need anything?”

“What? No I-,” Sam shoots up from his seat. “Dean, wait-“

“Sam, please,” Dean barks, his voice harsher than he planned. He hangs his head. As if his dad lives in him, there he is, right on cue.

_You’re a coward. You had twelve years to. Now it’s too late._

Bringing a hand to his face, Dean rubs his eyes, willing them to stay dry, and turns back to face his brother. He lowers his voice, trying his best to hide the how it wavers. “I’ll be fine, okay?”

Something sad in Sam’s eyes, it’s obvious he’s worried, but he lets Dean go regardless. He probably needs a break from him anyway, Dean thinks. Sam didn’t want to be around John Winchester Jr. all those years ago. Why would he want to now?

He tries to give Sam an apologetic, reassuring smile, but guilt is taking hold of him, climbing up his throat now, and he has to turn away soon after.

Dean’s boots feel particularly heavy on the stairs, and every step he takes feels like a Herculean feat. It’s not just his boots. It’s his bones and his chest too. His joints ache, his legs are heavy, and when he finally makes it to the top, he uses the last shred of strength to push open the reinforced door.

The cool air hits his face, and letting it slam shut behind him, Dean leans back against the door, breathless. He feels like he’s swallowed cement, his lungs filled with it, and he has to focus on each breath to keep them working.

When he catches most of his breath back, he pushes himself off the door and heads to the Impala, pulling open the car door and slamming it behind him. He doesn’t even know where he’s going. He needs to be somewhere not empty. Somewhere he doesn’t notice the blank space Cas left behind. Turning the key in the ignition, he makes his way onto the road and heads to the nearest bar.

Baby’s headlights highlight just how endless the empty road is, the tarmac and the night sky merging into one, never-ending void.

_Dark. Cold. Nothing._

He needs music. He just needs noise. Anything to keep his mind quiet until he can drown it in whiskey.

He pulls open the glove compartment and blindly reaches for one of his tapes. Finding one, he pushes it into the stereo and twists the volume up as far as it’ll go.

The first note plays. It’s _Stairway to Heaven_.

Fuck. It’s his mixtape.

Dean remembers when he first gave it to him, Cas with his little head tilt, squinted eyes, the most secret of smiles. On their next drive together, Dean said he could play it, and he told him all about the band and where he first heard each song, and why each one is in his top thirteen, and Cas never told him he was boring, or that it was stupid to get this passionate about music. He sat in the passenger seat, a little crease in his brow, seeming to focus on the lyrics and trying to make sense of them.

He said he liked this one.

Damn rain, he can’t see a thing. It’s only when the wipers don’t make his view any clearer that he realises he’s crying. The headlights on the road blur, and though he tries to blink away the tears they’re already falling down his face.

Alone on the road, barely five minutes from the Bunker, Dean stops in centre. He doesn’t make it to the bar.

It’s not fair. Why, even now, is life not fair? Why is it working against him still?

Caught in a storm, a little boat lost at sea, waves of painful realisation crash over him, and all those years of heartbreak come flooding over the dam. That awful, sickening guilt has hold of his weary heart again, not just because he’s the reason Cas is gone, but because, despite all his efforts, that rage, the frustration, it’s all still there, eternally bubbling below the surface. Crying in his car in the middle of the road, Dean is angry. It’s a habit he’s had his whole life, an impulse so familiar, and he’s tired of fighting it. He’s tired of fighting altogether.

Cas said he wasn’t like that, Cas believed he was good, and he wants to believe it too. So badly Dean wants Cas to be right, but with how he’s feeling now, maybe even Cas got it wrong.

He’s angry at Chuck. He’s angry at himself. Worst of all, he’s angry at Cas, and that realisation makes him sick to his stomach.

He smashes his hands against the steering wheel, then again, and again and again. Completely, defeated, wracked with exhaustion, he slumps forward and rests his head there. All he can do is cry. He cries until his head pounds and the sleeve of his jacket is wet through, and he feels like he can’t breathe.

Fighting it won’t bring him back. Nothing will.

The thought of giving up makes everything worse. It guts him, makes the cement in his throat come back, but he can’t do this again. What makes it worse is Cas would understand. Cas wouldn’t blame him if he stopped trying. That was just like Cas. He always understood.

Dean closes his tired eyes and by the fourth verse, the song is distant and fuzzy.

Then there’s the soft tapping of the rain on the windscreen, muffled from the inside of the Impala, and a vibrating on the dash. He opens his eyes again. Neck stiff, Dean sits back, head throbbing. It’s still dark out, and he can’t tell how long he’s been out for.

The phone keeps vibrating. He better answer it. It could be Cas.

Then he remembers, and the memory tunnels its way through his chest again, just as it did the first time he lost him.

Reaching for his phone, the luminous display is painfully bright against his eyes, still wet, and he has to squint to read who it is.

It’s Sam.

“Hey,” Dean says, nursing the ache in the back of his neck.

“Dean? Where the hell are you? It’s been hours.”

Voice small and raspy, Dean replies “Uh, sorry. Lost track of time.”

There’s a pause, and upon hearing Dean’s voice Sam’s tone changes. “Dean? Are you okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “I’ll head back now.”

He hangs up, rubs the half-dried tears from his cheeks and turns the key in the ignition again. In the silence Dean lets himself think.

If he does this this again, it’s going to destroy him.

The answer could be out there, but it could take him months. It could take him years. It could consume him, steal whatever’s left of his life away. It could take the little he has left to offer the world and leave him with nothing. He watched it happen to his Dad. That’s a path so clear cut, he knows exactly where it leads, and he refuses to follow in his footsteps. He refuses to make the same mistakes. Besides, Cas said he was more than that.

He has to live his life now. For Miracle. For Sam. For Cas. For himself.

***

“I kept searching, but there’s nothing so far,” Sam says. Dean hadn’t noticed before, but Sam’s under-eyes are dark, and he looks sick with exhaustion. Not only has Dean been driving himself into the ground, but he’s taken Sam with him.

“Thanks, Sam, but it’s over.”

“What?” Sam looks concerned.

“It’s over, Sam. I’m done.”

“You want to give up?” Sam’s question sounds like it comes from a place of confusion rather than accusation, but Dean still can’t help but get defensive.

“What are we gonna’ do? Live in this Bunker forever? Read every book? Find out everything we can about the Empty? What if we do all that, and we still can’t get him back, and we’ve wasted our freedom doing exactly what we were doing when we were trying to get it.”

Dean breathes out, dropping his voice again.

“If Cas is gone, and I mean really gone, then I just want- no, I _need_ his sacrifice to mean something.”

“Dean what are you saying?”

Looking down, he takes a breath to steady himself. “I’m saying I think it’s time we gave this life up for good, Sam.”

Sam’s expression is washed of all concern, disbelief taking over. “You mean retire?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe. The world’s back. Chuck’s gone. Eileen is out there waiting for you to finally make a move, and she’s smart. She won’t hang around forever, y’know? And there haven’t been any cases in weeks. I think if we’re finally free, we should start acting like it.”

There’s a silence, and then finally Sam says, “I guess I just never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Guilt lays heavy on Dean’s shoulders, and he leans forward, trying to be as honest as he’ll let himself. “Look, I know it’s selfish. I know I gave you crap about doing the same thing before. I know. Man, every time I think about it, it feels like I’m giving up – like I’m taking the easy way out. But you know better than anyone what obsessing over something, or someone, can do. You saw what it did to Dad. I can’t go down that same road, Sammy. I won’t.”

Sam takes the seat opposite Dean, sincerity in his eyes. “Dean, after everything you’ve done for the world, for Cas, for me, you’re not selfish for wanting to live your life. You’ve done your job. Cas knew what he signed up for, and you tried, Dean. You tried.”

Sam’s words are genuine, and Dean appreciates the gesture. They help him feel a little better, but then his eyes catch the _C_ on the table again, and from the depths of himself he feels the guilt inch is way up his insides. He swallows it down, and tries to remember why Cas was taken in the first place.

On every one of Dean’s broken bones, every cut lip, bruised rib, and pulled muscle, mended with a gentle touch, Cas has etched his name there, so, though he can’t bring himself to finish the carving, he decides that that doesn’t matter. His very atoms are engraved with Cas, and that’s what counts.

[END OF CHAPTER TWO]


	3. to burn for you

So he’s really gone.

Not for the first time.

There was the time after Sam pulled Michael to Hell. That didn’t last long though.

There was the time at the reservoir, and he hung onto that tattered trench coat, kept it safe, until Cas came home and reclaimed it.

There was the time at North Cove when watched the life burn from his body. When he dowsed him in gasoline, and set him aflame.

The pyre might as well have been built from his bones because he burned with Cas that day. He burned until his body was ashes, and like the scorch of his broken wings on the cold, hard ground, Dean’s memories of him were charred black, singed at the corners, the faces in the pictures warped and distorted, everything marred with the knowledge that he was gone, and he was never coming back. Even when the flames died down, that fire never stopped burning. It lived in his throat with each shot of liquor, and behind his eyes after countless sleepless nights, and in the split skin of his knuckles, bloodied from yet another fight he’d picked. It lived where his heart once was, spit flames at the ones he loved, and left his body like the burnt timber frames of the only home he’d ever known before him.

He remembers wondering what point there was in saving a world that didn’t care he was gone. To him, it seemed wrong that it could keep turning when someone so important wasn’t in it anymore. He thought that there should be no sun on his skin, no air in his lungs, and yet the sun still shone, day after day, and everything carried on as normal, like there could ever be a normal for him again.

At the time he thought it was apt that he set the fire. He was the reason Cas was gone after all, and like those flames took Cas, Dean was engulfed in his anger, consumed by his guilt, and it left him nothing but a burnt out, broken man, fragmented. He felt damaged beyond repair.

Cas came back that time too though.

Lost to pride, to heroism, and now to sacrifice, Cas has left Dean with no battered trench coat to hold onto, no mark of broken wings on the earth. No body to burn. No pyre to light. The world still turning and Dean being alive to see it are the only reminders that Cas was here at all.

Cas said from the very start that Dean lacked faith, but Dean doesn’t think that’s true anymore. It wasn’t faith he lacked, it was something, or someone, to place it in, and although he may have lost hope, he’d always have faith in Cas. Always.

He told Dean he was worth saving, and after twelve years, after everything he saw him do, that never changed. So, whether Dean believes it or not, Cas believed he was worth it. Dean knows that’s what the point is now.

Standing at the water’s edge admiring the immensity of the ocean’s glimmering surface, the shade of blue reminiscent of a pair of kind eyes he once knew, Dean prays.

_Hey, Cas._

_I’m thinking about getting a job. Cases have all but dried up since Jack took over. I don’t know what though. The only thing I’m qualified for is kill-_

_-is saving people. Well, trying to at least. It doesn’t always go to plan._

_I guess I could be a mechanic. I’m good with cars. Built Baby up from nothing but the wheels she’s left standing on so many times, and there’s no denying she looks good. Or maybe a firefighter. I always wanted to be a firefighter when I was younger. I don’t know. Something that means I’m still helping people. That was always the best part of the job._

_I’m trying to cut back on the drinking too. Sam found me passed out again the other day, and I keep imagining the faces you would make if you were here. That’s not how I want to remember you, and to be honest, my liver could definitely use a break._

_Truth is, Cas, you really made me see things differently. What you did for me…I don’t know. It’s like, for the first time, I’m starting to think that maybe I’m not as bad as I always thought. Maybe I’m not a lost cause, and I’m just a fixer-upper, like Baby was all those times before. It never made me love her any less._

_It’s hard, but I’m trying. That has to count for something, right?_

_I hope it’s enough, Cas._

[END OF CHAPTER THREE]


	4. as long ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // self-harm  
> -  
> just a brief warning that there are mentions of dean cutting himself as part of a spell in this chapter. nothing detailed - i kept it as vague as i could, but i wanted to add this warning just in case.

Spring in Kansas. A little house in the middle of nowhere. Nothing fancy; a fixer-upper, just like him. Cas would’ve liked it here.

With the money he’s earned from fixing up cars, Dean’s building it up essentially from scratch. In its current state, it’s almost uninhabitable. Broken floorboards, rotten timber frames, boarded windows, a leaky roof. It’s a wonder it’s even still standing.

Sam tells him it looks unfixable when he shows him and Eileen around. Dean disagrees. It just needs a little TLC.

On the day he moves in though, Dean doesn’t even know where to start. It seems like there’s too much wrong with the place. The kitchen is the worst room in the house – stained walls from leaky pipes, mould in the corners. Nothing but the flickering light overhead to help him see at night. It’s definitely going to take the longest time to fix.

Brand new and already peeling, Dean decides the first thing to do is rip up the ugly green wallpaper. Of course when he does he finds cracks in the wall lurking underneath. The newness of the wallpaper makes sense now, a hasty coverup by the previous owner.

Instead of filling those cracks in, Dean decides to knock that wall down.

Knocking down walls, plastering others, treating wood, patching up the holes, filling in the cracks, Dean rips the rotten parts of the house out and starts building it up from those foundations.

It becomes a routine, Dean taking Miracle to work, working his shift, sometimes overtime too, coming back and working on the house through the evening and into the early hours until he finally lets himself rest on the sofa, bones weary and body aching, and, with Miracle across his lap, he drifts off in front of the TV.

He always finds time to talk to Cas too. He knows his prayers probably don’t get through, but just in case they do, he wants to make sure Cas knows he’s not forgotten, and that even though he’s far away, he’ll always have a place with Dean.

After a month, the leaky roof is fixed, the boarded-up windows are replaced with glass, and by the second month he’s sanding, painting, glossing, and the inside is finally starting to match the outside.

Of course, Miracle is by his side every turn of a wrench, every stroke of a brush.

He’s sleeping the whole night through most nights now too, and his nightmares are mostly gone. Of course, some days are harder than others. Some days Dean comes home, and the house feels cold and empty, and there are those Cas-shaped holes in every corner he looks. Sometimes he can’t help but feel angry. It’s mostly frustration – frustration that he can’t get past things. Frustration that some things still eat him up inside. He’s got Miracle. Sam and Eileen are happy. For the first time ever, he’s happy, and he has a life that’s more than he ever dared dream of, and he can’t help but feel guilty whenever something gets to him.

Even though he feels guilty for not feeling happy all the time, there’s guilt in the happiness too. Though he knows it’s what Cas wanted, it doesn’t feel right to be happy when he can’t be, to live a life that Cas never got to. But he tried to get him back. He tried. That’s all that matters. That’s all he could do.

Dean’s soul still bears a hole left in Cas’s shape. It always will. Everything is getting a little easier now, and every good day Dean has is one more than he ever expected. He has to remember that.

***

Cas touches his shoulder, one last gesture of comfort, and Dean wants to collapse into it. He never wants Cas to let him go. He tries to speak, he tries to say the words, but he’s pushed to the ground, and, legs paralysed, eyes-wide, all Dean can do is watch and Cas is ripped from his life again.

Heart racing, forehead sweaty, Dean jolts up from his bed. In the early morning silence, his shallow breaths seem deafening.

Before he knows it, Miracle is by his side.

“Hey, Boy,” he says, his voice low and rough, trying to catch his breath.

He checks his phone for the time. The display says it’s three in the morning. Dean knows he should go back to bed, but his heart still feels like it’s trying to escape his ribcage, and he decides he should probably do something to work on the house while he waits to get sleepy again.

There’s a box in the corner that catches his eye. It’s the last of the boxes from the Bunker that he needs to go through. He hasn’t touched it since he moved in.

Hopping down from the bed, Dean makes his way over to it. Miracle follows. He kneels on the hard floorboards, wiping the thick layer of dust from the top. Dean retrieves a penknife from his back pocket and cuts through the tape.

At the very top of the box there’s a picture of Cas from the day they went to Dodge, and Dean smiles to himself, small and secret.

“That goddamn trench coat. The officers must have thought he was ridiculous,” he says to Miracle, who has taken a seat next to him.

Dean had forgotten he’d taken this picture. It’s one of the only ones he has of Cas. There was never really any time for pictures, but Dean made sure he took one that day though. That day, one of the best days of his life. He’s so glad it’s captured forever. Maybe he’ll get it framed.

Placing the picture on the side, Dean goes back to the box and is met with a jacket. Dean frowns, and it’s only when he unfolds it that he realises what it is now. It’s the jacket he wore the day he lost Cas.

His breath catches, his periphery blurs. Cas’s handprint marking the fabric on the shoulder.

Dean places his hand over it.

His handprint, the only thing that proves he was real. It’s as close as he’ll ever get to the real him again.

Then he realises, and there’s the burn of hope in his chest, and his heart, still recovering from his nightmare, stops. Too caught up in his loss, he failed to realise sooner.

It’s blood. It’s _Cas’s_ blood.

Before his brain has had a chance to process what’s happening, his legs take over and he’s off the floor and racing down the stairs. Miracle follows, barking anxiously.

Opening the front door, something stops him from stepping through.

The world’s at peace. Finally, he and everyone he loves is happy, and to risk that for one person, no matter how integral he was in bringing that happiness, is selfish. If this works, there will be consequences. There are always consequences.

But Cas could get the chance he deserves. They both could, and surely any consequences must be worth that?

Miracle barks again, and Dean is brought back to reality. If he does this, he needs to make sure he comes back. No more bloodshed. No more loss. He’s built a life now, and he can’t lose it. Not so soon.

Turning around and crouching down, he holds Miracle close and says goodbye. “Stay, boy. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” With that, he’s out the front door and racing to the Impala. He throws himself into the driver’s seat, jams the key into the ignition, and with two shaky hands clinging to the steering wheel, Dean pushes the accelerator to the floor and makes for the Bunker.

Beams from twin headlights meet in the centre of the dark, open road. He’s thankful that it’s empty now. He’s waited long enough.

Although he’s driving away from the light of the city, the road ahead has never shone so brightly.

If this works – if he gets Cas back-

_Just get there first._

Before Dean even registers that he’s there, he’s pulling up outside of the bunker and stumbling down the stairs. He tries to get the key in the door, but he can’t steady his hand enough. Muttering curses under his breath and telling himself to hurry, he cups his shaking hand with the other, gets the key into the lock and turns it, pushing open the reinforced door.

Light floods the Bunker, and Dean knows exactly where to look to find what he needs. Making his way down those spiral stairs, he rushes to a set of drawers in the corner, the book is exactly where he left it. He turns to the page with the folded corner and reads the words he’d clung to all those months ago.

One spell and Cas could be home.

Salt. He needs salt.

Book grasped tight to his chest; he sprints to the kitchen and grabs some, spilling some of it in the process.

Now he needs space. The only place he can think of is the dungeon and he heads there as fast as his weary legs will take him.

He makes a ring with the salt, going over it a few times to fill in the gaps he missed where his hand won’t stop trembling. He drops to his knees and starts performing the ritual, using a blade to add his blood to Cas’s, and setting the jacket alight. He speaks the only words left separating him from the person he’s been aching to see for too long, and after the last word, his breath quickens. There’s no sound. There’s no blackhole portal forming. Dean doesn’t know how much time has passed, but every breath he takes feels like one too many without Cas.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean pleads, his voice hushed and shaky.

Not again. He can’t go through this again.

Then there’s the unmistakable sound of the portal opening. The noise he’d woken up from, terrified and trembling, too many nights to count. It’s a thick and suffocating sound – like it could flood his lungs and choke him seeps into the room, and there’s a shuddering pulse in the air. The same black, viscous matter that had come all those months before, that had invaded his dreams over and over, starts to spread on the very same wall it did the first time he saw it.

Like all those months before, Dean is petrified, stone-legged, knees fixed to the ground, and all he can do is call out to Cas’s name.

“Cas?”

The sound echoes. There’s no answer. If he wants Cas back, he’s going to have to get him.

This fact somehow helps him breaks free of the concrete floor and he pushes himself up onto his feet. He moves slowly, as if any sudden movement could make the portal close, and takes a step forward. The door remains, drawing more and more of him into nothing the closer he gets. More steps, one after the other, and soon he’s inside.

In the dark, cold nothing, he finds Cas, lying face down. Dean becomes aware of his heart beat again. Everything else collapses around him, and before he can stop himself he’s calling out Cas’s name and rushing to his side. He knows he should probably be quiet, but the sight of Cas, the real Cas, makes him lose focus.

Kneeling by his side, the first thing Dean does is place a hand under Cas’s heavy head.

“Cas? Can you hear me?” Trying his best not to startle him, Dean shakes him gently. “Come on man, you’ve gotta’ wake up. It’s time to come home.”

Cas doesn’t stir.

The door might close. Dean needs to get them out of here.

“Cas? Cas, we’re so close now. Come on.” Voice trembling a little, Dean speaks louder, and wills his best friend to life again with one final shake.

He hears Cas take a sharp breath.

“Cas?”

Cas’s eyes open slightly, like waxing crescent moons. They’ve been a compass on Dean’s bleakest nights, and guided him home too many times to count. Dean gets to repay the favour now.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Dean says, moving in closer to inspect how bad a state Cas is in.

“D-Dean?”

“Hey,” Dean soothes, “yeah it’s me.”

With that, Cas’s eyes grow wide beneath his knotted brows, and wild, worried pupils dart from side to side. He pushes himself up from the floor so that he’s sitting, head still resting against Dean’s hand.

“Can you walk?” Dean asks, and after a moment Cas nods. Dean loops an arm under his, heaving him up onto his heavy, swaying legs, looking behind him as he does. To his surprise there is no incoming threat. No invading darkness. Nothing chasing them. Regardless, something tells him to move, and holding Cas tighter, he rushes back towards the Bunker’s fluorescent lights.

A few feet from the door, something takes shape in the nothingness in front of them. Soon enough, they’re facing an entity in Meg’s shape.

“Dean Winchester. Should’ve known you’d come snooping around here eventually.”

“We don’t want any trouble, okay?” Dean keeps his voice low.

“That’s not how things work, Deano.” Meg’s smile is cold, not like the old Meg’s, and it makes Dean’s hair on end. They’re so close now. He can’t fail now.

“I just came for him. One angel. That’s all I want.”

“See, that’s just not going to work, because he’s the only one left here.” Meg steps forward. “Turns out, the Nephilim had this planned all along. I guess he knew you’d come searching again. It’s quite pathetic how predictable that is.”

Meg inching closer, Dean stands his ground, holding Cas tighter as he does though.

“Well, you shouldn’t have said that, because now that I know he’s alone here, I’m gonna’ have to save him.”

“Oh that’s right,” Meg lets out a laugh, “you think you save people now.”

Before he can process it, the entity switches shapes, and now Jo is standing in front of him.

“You couldn’t save me, Dean,” the entity in Jo’s shape says. She holds her hand out and makes a fist, and all the air leaves Dean’s lungs.

Then the entity switches again. Now he’s facing Charlie.

“Or me, Dean. You got me gutted. You’re the reason I’m dead. You didn’t save me.”

_They’re not real. None of this is real._

“I…tried…” Dean croaks out, falling to his knees.

Then there’s Benny, a person so familiar yet, eyes cold, nothing behind them, he’s a stranger.

“You think you save people? You sent me back like a lamb to the slaughter, brother. You didn’t save me. You couldn’t save the angel in Purgatory neither. What makes you think you can save him now?”

The entity is crushing him from the inside out. He’s sprawled out on the ground now, gasping for any air he can get. His vision starts to fade, black at the edges and seeping in to the centre. As he succumbs to nothingness, with his last shallow breath, he reaches for Cas. He finds his arm and clings to it. He hopes he knows how sorry he is. That’s as close as he’ll ever get to saying it now.

As Dean’s tunnelled vision fades to black, an echoed ring starts buzzing in his ears, and there’s a bright light at the centre, distant at first, but soon enough it takes over. Then he feels his lungs fill again, and he’s opening his eyes to find that the entity is gone, and Cas is on his knees by his side, struggling for breath. Dean splutters, sitting up.

Cas doesn’t say anything.

“You good?” Dean manages, voice wrecked. Cas nods, but he’s swaying a little, and Dean knows he needs to get them both out of there. With his last remaining shred of energy, he pushes himself up, hauling Cas to his feet again with him, and supporting each other, arm in arm, they stumble their way to the portal door and step back through. Not two moments after does it close again.

He did it. He’s safe. They’re both safe.

Silence. Dean and the person he’s been aching for, united once more. Cas leans against the chair in the centre of the room and Dean stands in front of him, checking over every inch. Sullen, sallow skin, sunken eyes, matted, messy hair, the past few months have clearly not been kind to him, and that fact makes Dean’s insides twist up. Forget the Empty, that feeling alone could choke the air out of the lungs and bring him to his knees if he let it. Everything in him wants to kiss colour back into those cheeks, to sweep away the marks of his restless sleep with the gentle brush of his thumb, to comb his fingers through each tuft of hair and ease them back home, and the feeling leaves him paralysed.

Overwhelmed with relief, even his words escape him. He’s been thinking about what he’d say for so long, but somehow nothing comes to mind now. Fuck. Why now of all times are the words failing him?

Cas seems to be as speechless as Dean is though, and the expression on his face, a winded, tired, deer in the headlights, leaves Dean all the more so.

That’s when Dean can’t hold back any longer, and he pulls him into the hug he’s been waiting for. The one in his dreams. The one he’s been wanting for too long. Like he did Cas’s parting words, Dean clings to him, holding him tighter than he’s ever held another living soul. He just needs to hold him. He needs to make sure he’s real.

Cas doesn’t push him to the ground this time, and in the safety of his arms, Dean’s sure nothing could pry him away now.

Cas is really here. Dean got him back.

Dean’s mouth starts moving without his permission.

“Never again, okay? Don’t do that ever again.” His voice wavers much more than he expects it to. Pulling away, he locks eyes with Cas, and his words spill from him, hushed and low. “I’m sorry it took so long, Cas. I’m so sorry.”

“How long was I there for? Is Chuck still-“?

“No. No, Chuck’s not a problem anymore.”

“So what is?”

“Nothing. We’re free.” ~~~~

Cas frowns. “But why would you bring me back? What do you need?”

“What-“ Maybe Dean’s heart breaks more in that moment than it ever has before. Somehow, his worst nightmare has come true. Cas really doesn’t know. Chuck was right. All this time, and Cas never knew. “You, Cas.”

“But it’s over. You’re free.”

“Exactly, Cas. The world is saved, the fight is over, and I still need you.” Desperate and broken, Dean’s voice exposes exactly how he’s feeling, and for once he doesn’t care. He hopes Cas can hear every crack, every break, every shaky, shallow breath. He hopes Cas can hear that he’s the reason his barely-mended heart keeps beating. “Don’t you get it? I never wanted you to leave.”

“Dean I-“

“Cas, please, listen to me, because now I know I’ve gotta’ say this.” He takes a breath. His heart beats against his ribs, and suddenly all that running has caught up to him and he feels like he can’t breathe again. Somehow, he finds it in him to speak.

“I brought you back because I needed to. Because you deserved it. Because my life, no matter how good it is, is always emptier without you.”

Dean steps closer, and Cas straightens up.

“You’ve saved me, so many times and in so many ways, and I need you to know that I don’t just want you around because you help us or because I think I owe you, okay? Although I do owe you. For everything. And it’s not because I feel responsible for bringing you back, either. It’s because you make me less afraid of who I am, and no matter what I do or say, without me explaining, you get it. You just understand. And I didn’t think you’d understand this. I tried to tell you in Purgatory, and I thought you knew. I thought you couldn’t feel the same. But then it’s like everything made sense. It’s like that last puzzle piece fell into place and I could see everything for what it was.”

“Dean I…I don’t follow.”

“What you said before you left. Me too, okay?” _Me too_ doesn’t cut it, and Dean knows it’s not enough. He knows what he really needs to say, and more than any ghost, any demon, any seemingly hopeless, unconquerable apocalypse he’s faced, it terrifies him to his very bones, because if he says the words out loud it makes them real. It makes Cas loving him, despite every turn of his knife in the pits of Hell, every kill in cold-blood under ancient curses, every sharpened, poisoned word thrown his way, real. It means that they could both have something they’ve wanted for so long, and, to Dean, nothing feels more world-ending than that.

He’s not a coward though, and the truth is, he doesn’t just reciprocate. What he feels for Cas transcends any plane of existence. It survives any and every absence. With everything in him, with everything he has, in the depths of his very soul, he is branded with his unending love for Cas.

Dean takes a breath and tries to be brave. Those words have never come easy, but he knows they need to be said now. ~~~~

“What I mean is, I love you.”

The twelve year secret escapes his lips, the very last of his burdens lifted. He’s finally said it, and now it feels like he’ll never stop.

“I love you, and I tried not to. For years I kept it buried, because what we have – what it means for us – it scares the crap out of me. It scares me more than anything ever has. But do you know what’s scarier? You not knowing. You being in that godforsaken place forever and never even realising that I feel like this too. So, you gotta’ hear me, man. I love you, okay? And you have me, all of me, always. I was already yours, Cas.”

Like a dove, silenced for too long, Dean’s love breaks free of its bone cage and sings for the masses.

Cas’s eyes are wide, tears pooling at the bottom, and like raindrops would trickle from flower petals under clear skies, they spill over his white rose lids and wet his cheeks. Dean cups his face, and with his rough, calloused thumb, he brushes them away. He hopes it says everything he wants it to. He hopes Cas knows what he means.

With misty, grieving, gazes, the two share a heartbroken smile. Too many years stolen by self-imposed silence. So many moments lost. Finally, though, the words that had rung in his ears since the moment he’d heard them make sense. His happiness, this whole time, was in just saying it.

Now he’s truly free.

[END OF CHAPTER FOUR]


	5. home

Cas and Dean are sitting at the table, all smiles. They haven’t taken their eyes off one another since they got back.

Dean swims in the familiar comfortable silence being with Cas brings, and after a little while longer, Cas asks, “How’s Sam?”

“Sam’s good. Settled down with Eileen.”

“And Jack?”

Seeing the fatherly concern in Cas’s expression, Dean tries his best to reassure him. “Jack did good. He’s the one who defeated Chuck.” Dean rubs the back of his neck. “I guess he and Amara are God now.”

“I suppose that was his destiny,” Cas sighs, and there’s a sadness in his eyes.

“Since when have we ever cared about destiny?” Dean says, and it earns him a half smile from Cas.

It’s quiet again, and for the first time since getting Cas back, Dean looks away from him, eyes on his own feet that shuffle below him.

“He never got to be a kid. I always said I’d never raise one into the life, but I did.”

“Dean, he was a Nephilim. There was never going to be a normal for him.”

“But I always gave him a hard time. I was always too hard on him.”

“You did your best, Dean,” Cas replies, offering Dean a reassuring smile. “That’s all you can ever do, and given the father you and Sam had, you did better than anyone could’ve expected you to.” There he is, understanding as always, and Dean’s heart aches with how much he loves him for it. He’s sure his face shows just how much, but he doesn’t worry about it. Instead, reaching over the table, he places his hand above Cas’s and holds it there.

He’s still real.

“Well you were right about him at least. He brought everyone back. Bobby, Charlie and Stevie, Eilee-Oh, I better tell Sam and Eileen the good news.”

He pushes himself up onto his weary legs, knees popping as he does. He pulls out his phone and finds Sam’s name. Eyes back on Cas, Dean puts the phone to his ear.

After a few rings, Sam picks up.

“Dean? It’s midnight. What’s up? Are you good?”

“Yeah, Sam. I’m good.” He can hardly keep the smile from his voice. “We got Cas back.”

“What?”

“Cas. We got him back, Sammy.”

Dean hears Sam try to find his words at the other end of the line. “Wha- How?”

“It’s a long story. We’re heading back to mine if you want to see him.”

Sam pauses, and there’s shuffling sounds in the background. “We’ll be right there.”

Dean hangs up the phone, eyes never leaving Cas, who is staring at the ‘C’ scratched into the table’s surface.

“Right,” Dean says, and starts reaching for the penknife in his back pocket. “When you were gone, I tried to write your name, but I thought you should do it yourself. Couldn’t bring myself to finish it after…it’s a long story.” He holds out the knife to Cas. “I guess I don’t have to now.”

“Dean, are you sure?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yes, Cas, I’m sure. You think I said all that stuff in there for the Hell of it? Now get carving.”

Cas takes the knife from Dean’s hand, their fingers brushing gently as he does, and brings it to the wood. First he scratches in an A, then an S. Dean watches him brush away the dust and admire it with a secret smile. Dean can’t help but smile too. Finally, Cas is back where he belongs. He’d already left his mark on the world, but it was about time he saw it for himself.

“Just Cas, huh?”

Cas smiles wider. “Just Cas.”

“Okay then, ‘just Cas’.” Dean places a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Sam’s on his way. Let’s get you home.”

“Home?”

“You’ll see.”

When Cas struggles to get to his feet by himself, panic rushes through Dean, and he grabs him by the elbow.

“Cas? You okay, right?” He can’t hide the concern in his words.

Cas breathes heavily, all his weight on Dean. “Yes, it’s just…my grace. I just need to recover.”

Only a little relieved, Dean stays close to him, holding him close as they make their way up the spiral stairs, and leave through the bunker front door.

Driving back home, Dean keeps an eye on Cas in his periphery. He’s disappeared one too many times in the time he’s known him, and he’s not about to let it happen again. Not this time. This time, he’s here for good.

Flashes of green in the window pass behind him, and his black hair stands out for it, and his skin slowly finding its colour again, Cas seems to glow in the early morning light.

“You’re quiet for someone who just came back to life,” Dean finally says.

“I’m trying to work out when they started letting angels rest in Heaven.”

“Cheesy one-liners still aren’t your thing I see. Besides, weren’t you the one who told me we were real?” There’s a smirk on Dean’s face, and Cas laughs for the first time since being back, and as he drives them home, the start of a sunrise basking them in a warm orange light, Dean vows that it’ll be the first time of many.

“You sure you’re okay?.”

“Yeah, you get used to it after a while,” Cas jokes.

Half-smiling, Dean says, “I promise this is the last time, Cas.”

Not too long after, they’re pulling into the driveway, and Sam and Eileen are already there, jumping out of their car and rushing over to greet them.

“Cas?” Sam laughs, already going in for a hug.

“Sam,” Cas chokes out, a small smile on his face.

Dean watches Sam pull back. “I can’t believe it man. You’re really back?”

“It would seem so,” Cas says, looking back at Dean, that small smile growing twofold.

Eileen beams, also giving Cas a hug. “We’re so glad you’re back.”

Dean watches them all, heart full. This is all he’s ever wanted.

After everyone has greeted everyone, they make their way inside. As soon as Dean opens the door, Miracle is running up to him, barking and jumping up to lick his face.

“Hey, buddy.” Dean crouches down, holding him in his arms. “Sorry I took so long boy. I told you I’d be back.”

Remembering that they’ve never met, Dean stands up and turns to Cas. “Cas, this is Miracle.”

At mention of Cas’s name Miracle’s tail wags faster than Dean’s ever seen it, and he watches him run over to him. Cas stands stiff, eyes fixed on the mess of fur that is jumping up to greet him.

“Oh. Hello, Miracle,” Cas says, and then slowly crouching down himself, he continues, “it’s, very nice to meet you.” His voice is as serious and monotonous as Dean always imagined it would be, and he can’t help but beam at him.

Cas turns his attention from Miracle to Dean, a crease in his brow. “Dean, you don’t like dogs.”

“That’s not true. I love dogs,” Dean protests, although Cas seems unconvinced. Dean bends down again, ruffling the fur just below Miracle’s ears. “Don’t worry he’ll warm up to you, boy. If not, we’ll have to find him a new home, won’t we?”

Dean catches the backend of a look Sam and Cas exchange. He doesn’t even mind that they’re making fun of him. He’s just glad that everyone is here.

They spend the early hours catching up, but eyes heavy, tired after the nights events, and with Miracle stretched across his lap, Dean starts to drift asleep. As his lids fall closed and his breathing slows, the conversation between the others starts to slip away, a distant, echoed sound.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Sam.”

“Thank you for saving him.”

“Of course.”

For the first time in a long time, Dean falls asleep, completely unburdened.

[END OF CHAPTER FIVE]


	6. in the having

They start off slow. Dean’s thankful for that.

With every kiss, every soft touch, every instance of closeness, he’s scared him stupid, and despite his age, everything feels so new. After a few weeks he finds the courage to tell Sam and Eileen, and though Dean suspects they both already knew, neither of them say that.

Dean has been working on the house again, and today he returns to Cas in the garden, sitting under a pre-sunset sky, the sun’s sleepy light washing everything in pink. Just above them birds sing, accompanied by the gentle percussion of the rustling of the leaves in the gentle breeze, and walking up the garden path, Miracle bouncing up behind him, Dean wipes his brow and hands Cas a beer, chilled and breathtakingly refreshing after a day spent in the Kansas summer heat. Before he sits, he places a kiss on the crown of Cas’s head, dark hair tickling his nose as he does.

“We’ll have this garden fixed up in no time,” Dean says proudly, taking a swig from his bottle

“You really didn’t have to build the flowerboxes, Dean. The ones at the store were fine.”

“What do you mean? They weren’t the right size, and anyway this way I can make sure they’re just how you want them.”

Despite his grace still being gone, the smile that Cas gives him makes the ache in Dean’s muscles fade to nothing, and even after a year, the novelty of him being back hasn’t worn off. In the bliss of the evening, Dean is lost in him.

Cas is the first to look away, and Dean keeps his eyes on him, watching how he admires the first little shoots that have sprung up in the pots. Dean might be even more excited than Cas is about those. He’d been planning to show Eileen and Sam tomorrow.

With that though, Dean makes a noise against the rim of his bottle. “Oh yeah. Test me. I want to surprise Eileen tomorrow.”

Turning back to Dean, Cas straightens up in his chair and gives him his full attention. Dean starts off signing the new words they’d been going over for the past couple of days. The days of the week, hello, goodbye, Miracle, beer, happy, garden, smile. He feels a little clumsy still, and sometimes he stumbles a bit, but Dean can’t help but smile when Cas only has to correct him a couple of times. His practice is paying off.

Then Dean remembers the phrase he taught himself a few days before. It was midnight, and despite being tired, he couldn’t drift off. Next to him though, Cas was fast asleep, and Dean was enamoured by his slow, deep breaths, and his tiny snores, and the mess of his hair at the front where he fell asleep with his hands in it. With everything in him, Dean felt so in love with him, and he wanted to wake him up just to tell him. He didn’t though.

Watching for the look of Cas’s face, Dean signs “I love you”, and he sees how Cas’s concentrated frown melts away, replaced with a shy smile, cheeks pink, soft eyes gleaming. After a second, Cas signs it back.

“Still?” Dean asks.

Cas leans forward, never taking his eyes off Dean’s. “Always, Dean.”

With butterflies in his chest, Dean feels like a freckle-faced school boy, and it’s hard to believe he kept himself from this feeling, this happiness, for so long.

Of course, it’s not perfect. Even with Cas back, Dean still has sleepless nights, still haunted by those dreams and the faces of the people he couldn’t save. That anger and frustration still burn within him, but a gentle hand across the dinner table, and a reassuring look, is all he needs to know Cas understands.

Before he gets back to work, Dean looks at Cas, taking in how the fading sun behind him frames his jaw, how the blue of his eyes, echoes of the sky that day, gleam in the light. Placing the beer on the table as he stands, he leans across the table to where Cas sits, placing his lips on his forehead and kissing him softly, and like the birds above, everything in him sings.

***

It’s been five years since Dean rescued Cas from the Empty, and in their beach chairs, sand beneath their feet, hand in hand, they watch Sam spin Isla around, Eileen close by, beaming.

Shielding the sun from his eyes, Dean turns to face his boyfriend and asks, “You ever want one?”

“A child?” Cas replies, meeting Dean’s eyes. “Isn’t it customary to get married first?”

Dean feels a smile bloom on his face, and he can’t tell if his cheeks feel warm because of the heat or because he’s blushing. When he replies, he tries to keep his voice as cool as he can. “I guess we’re gonna’ have to get married then.”

“I guess so,” Cas replies, returning Dean’s smile. He brings Dean’s hand to lips and places a kiss there, and Dean can’t help but melt with it.

Forever with someone he thought he’d lost for good. It almost seems too good to be true, and sometimes Dean gets so worried that it’s all being written again. Late at night, he can get so fixated on the idea that there’s a piece of Chuck that transferred to Jack, and it’s corrupting him. Maybe it’s taking over. Maybe nothing is real. Maybe they’ve never really been free. When he falls into that hole, though, he tries to remember that Cas is real, that he’s always been real, and while it doesn’t fix everything, it helps.

“Uncle Dean,” Isla calls from where she stands across the beach, “teach me how to do that cool stone trick!”

“Be right there, little lady,” Dean calls back, and then in a hushed tone says, “Duty calls.” Squeezing Cas’s hand and planting a kiss on his forehead before he goes, he says, “I love you, Mr. Winchester.”

Standing at the water’s edge with Isla, he watches it slowly drift away, and just when it seems like it won’t ever return, those gentle waves are rushing right back. Life seems to be that way. When he thought Cas would never return, there he was at the bottom of those steps, and by that stream in Purgatory, and in the cool glow of a payphone under the night sky, seemingly endless in duration.

Whatever their future holds, Dean knows one thing for sure; in this life and the next, just as these waves inevitably return to shore, he and Cas will find each other. They always do.

Written as the faithless man and the broken angel, they were fated to follow their own set paths, destined to go their separate ways. In choosing one another, over and over, they escaped the pages of Chuck’s storybook, and with every gentle touch, every kiss, every hushed “I love you”, they write their own ending.

In each other’s hearts they found a home, and in loving each other, they broke free.

[THE END]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an authors note on the finale:
> 
> i just want to say something directly to readers of this fic now. first of all, thank you so much for making it this far into the fic and actually finishing it. wtf that means so much. i hope it was worth it.
> 
> some people didn't mind how the finale ended, but chances are, if you’re reading this fic, you were somewhat hurt like i was. i know i see a lot of myself in these characters, and to see them treated the way they were was genuinely upsetting. cas, removed from our screens the moment of his coming out, and dean, only finding happiness in death. this has nothing to do with the ship. the finale’s message was hopeless and dangerous. it told us that we are trapped by our circumstances, doomed to be the product of whatever life throws at us. it told us that people who have suffered do not get relief or peace until they die. 
> 
> this isn't true, so with this fic i wanted to fix it. i hope i succeeded, but just in case it didn't come across, i want to tell anyone reading this directly to keep fighting, no matter how bad the odds are, to love others no matter how many times your heart has been broken, to build your own path even when it seems like everything has been chosen for you. most of all, i want you to know that you are worthy of a happy ending, you are deserving of love and you will find happiness, even if now it doesn't seem like it. you don’t need to earn love or family or belonging - just by being here on this earth, you deserve it.
> 
> representation matters. you matter.  
> thank you for being here, and thank you for reading my silly little words. you'll never know how much it means to me.
> 
> \- kate <3


End file.
